Of Italian keyboard composers before Scarlatti, the
general music lover will probably remember the name of Frescobaldi;
he may then remember that Giovanni Gabrieliís works include a number
for organ and that his uncle Andrea had cultivated that instrument assiduously.
Mention the name of Giovanni Maria Trabaci even to an Italian and he
will perhaps just look at you blankly.

Of course, back in the early 17th Century
the term "Italian" was a misnomer anyway, for the Italian
peninsula was a string of little kingdoms. Just as in the world of painting
there were distinct schools in Rome, Venice, Florence, Lombardy, Naples
and many other cities, kingdoms and dukedoms, each with its own particular
individuality, so did each political unit have its own school of music.
It often comes as a surprise to those who know modern Naples to discover
that the renaissance school of painting there was the darkest, severest
and most austere of all, worlds apart from the flamboyant style of Venice
or the sweeter contours of Florence or Rome. But those who have found
this out will not be surprised to learn that some of the severest and
most erudite weavers of counterpoint were to be found in the Kingdom
of Naples; and first among them was the Royal Chapel organist Giovanni
Maria Trabaci.

When he published his first volume of keyboard music
in 1603 he used the system of notation favoured by the Neapolitan school;
the music did not appear in organ intavolature but as a score in four
parts. He described it as "to be played on any instrument desired,
but proportionally on organs and harpsichords". The editor of what
was promised as a complete edition, Oscar Mischiati, believed firmly
that this description plus the writing on four staves implied the possibility
of performance by instrumental ensembles as well as on keyboard instruments
or the harp (which was cultivated in Naples and is specifically mentioned
in the second volume of 1615). Further evidence in favour of this view
would seem to come from the fact that Trabaci wove his counterpoint
in an ideal sense, that is without reference to what would actually
fit under the hands, producing impossibly wide stretches on occasion
that can only be resolved by readjusting the lines.

Sergio Vartoloís notes to this album are detailed,
readable and informative, but do not mention the possibility that these
may not be exclusively keyboard works. I get the impression he disagrees
with Mischiati since he propagates the view that Trabaciís preferred
instrument was the harpsichord. The evidence for this is somewhat flimsy
when Trabaci advertises himself on the title page as an organist and
lists the organ before the harpsichord as quoted above. But to be fair,
the introduction to his 1615 volume describes the pieces as "suitable
for all instruments, but especially for harpsichords and organs",
so perhaps he came to prefer the harpsichord as time went on. The opposite
view to Mischiatiís would be that the use of four staves (adopted on
occasion by Frescobaldi but particularly characteristic of the Neapolitan
school) did not imply a non-keyboard destination; the composer simply
wished that his contrapuntal expertise should be seen as well as heard.

Whatever Trabaciís intentions he unwittingly made life
difficult for posterity. Commenting on the example of the first volume
held by the G. B. Martini music library of Bologna, their 19th
Century archivist Gaetano Gaspari remarked that "this work written
in four-part score is filled with contrapuntal artifice and provides
strong evidence of Trabaciís abilities. Today there is probably nobody
in all Europe who is able to play these and similarly made compositions,
written as they are in score: this must induce in us a high esteem for
the old organists if, as we do not doubt, they were able to perform
such music". And so for practical reasons this music became a closed
book for generations. Certain aspects of its appearance on the page
are problematical only because modern usage has changed; it uses old
clefs and prints quavers and semiquavers separately rather than in rhythmic
groupings. But its tendency to write the contents of each bar horizontally,
that is without aligning vertically those notes that are to be played
together, is not something which becomes less confusing as a result
of practice and certainly proves that performers as well as composers
truly thought contrapuntally Ė horizontally Ė in those days.

In 1964 the first instalment of a modern complete edition
appeared, dedicated to the 12 "Ricercate" (as "Ricercari"
were called in Naples in Trabaciís day) from the first volume, published
jointly by Paideia of Brescia and Bärenreiter and edited by the
aforesaid Oscar Mischiati. Scrupulously prepared and beautifully printed,
it seemed that Trabaciís problems of inaccessibility were over. A second
instalment appeared in 1967, containing the Canzoni francesi, Capricci
and Canti fermi of the first volume. Unfortunately we are still awaiting
further instalments, of which I estimate that another six would be required
to complete the work. Meanwhile a photographic reprint of the original
edition (of which only two examples survive) was issued by SPES of Florence
in 1984, and a few pieces have appeared in anthologies. The player wishing
to perform works only available in the SPES edition can at least obtain
them, but is practically obliged to make his own transcription.

Is it worth the bother? I would say yes. We know that
the Italian ricercare is one of the ancestors of the fugue but,
unlike most, Trabaciís subjects have a melodic profile that stays in
the memory, and when a ricercare has more than one fugue subject,
he contrasts them well. He allows a higher level of dissonance in his
counterpoint than the other Italian schools were wont to, and this makes
the music more interesting to our ears. In the Canzoni francesi,
which lend themselves to more extrovert treatment, he often explodes
into passages of dashing virtuosity. His occasional harmonic experiments,
in Consonanti stravaganti for example, can sound weird even today.
In short, he is a master and those who enjoy music of this period should
get to know him.

Vartolo included five of these pieces on a disc which
I reviewed with severe misgivings (K617039) that were not limited to
the truly appalling translation of the booklet essay. He is certainly
an enthusiast and writes with authority and accessibility. Of the four
instruments used, three are his own property. The odd thing is that
his notes also state that he uses a copy of a sixteenth century regal
and, besides the Giovanni Cipri organ, two other organs of Bologna,
by Lorenzo da Prato and Baldassare Malamini, but these are in fact not
used. I am also puzzled as to why, having carted the whole works to
the Church of San Martino in Bologna, the fine-sounding Cipri organ
there is only actually used for one piece. Still, the Felice Cimino
organ is a treat to hear and the harpsichord and the spinettone are
clearly excellent instruments. We get all this music played with love
and dedication and, in the absence of alternatives, I suppose I could
leave it at that.

However, I feel I must say more. I took issue strongly
with Vartoloís interpretative methods when I reviewed the previous disc
and Iím afraid he hasnít changed his ways very much. I donít want to
labour this unduly and there will be time enough for closer analysis
if and when somebody else records all this music in a different way.
My points of disagreement are:

Rubato. The student who attempts to apply rubato to a fugue by Bach
gets sternly warned off by any teacher worth his salt on the grounds
that what may sound plausible for the upper line will disrupt and
distort all the other lines going on at the same time. Vartolo either
doesnít agree or doesnít think it applies to Trabaciís counterpoint.
Now as before there is not a phrase which is not manhandled rhythmically,
or which is allowed to speak for itself. Whatever he may intend, some
of his distortions simply sound like a sight-reader fumbling for the
next note. I am quite sure this is not the case but I wish he would
try to listen to his own performances with the ears of an outsider.
Perhaps he thinks that ideas like rhythmic continuity and flow are
romantic accretions and that any sensation of onward movement has
to be prevented. I can only say that the ricercari sound so
extremely beautiful if played simply and flowingly that I cannot understand
why Vartolo feels it essential to interpose his own personality at
every bar. However, I did feel this time that, unlike the performances
on the previous disc, there is the feeling of the tactus slowly
ticking over at least in the more sustained pieces such as the ricercari
and the canzoni. The brief Partite which practically
constitute two series of variations are not allowed to build up into
a whole, an effect exacerbated by the insertion of pauses between
each one that are almost as long as the pieces themselves. Is there
not something patronising about the implicit theory behind these performances,
that this music is so dull or meaningless that only the genius of
the performer can make it worth hearing? We sneer at earlier generations
who dressed up old music in elaborate orchestrations to make it palatable.
Will people one day sneer at the age of rubato-fiends who sought to
"improve" the old masters through the fire of their interpretative
genius?

Instruments. I have already stated my belief that Vartolo overestimates
the role of the harpsichord in these works, but I cannot deny that
it was one of Trabaciís approved solutions. Four of the five pieces
which Vartolo recorded previously on the organ, are here played on
the harpsichord, so readers can check out their preferences. Every
logical consideration points to the ricercate, with their sustained
harmonies, and the toccatas, which begin with long held notes that
die away on the harpsichord, not to speak of the canti fermi,
of which we will simply not hear the cantus firmus if it is not played
by an instrument capable of sustaining it, being essentially organ
music. In any case the choice to play pieces of a similar nature on
different instruments is misleading since it will induce some listeners
to suppose that there are, for example, two different types of ricercate
whereas they are entirely homogeneous in manner. The desired variety
might have been obtained by abandoning anthological order and arranging
the works in twelve listener-friendly groupings, each with a ricercata
at its head. This would not, however solve the problem that each instrument
sounds at a different pitch and I for one found it irksome to have
to adjust my mental conceptions every time Vartolo passes from one
instrument to another.

In conclusion, though the records are at Naxosís very
low price, they are not particularly well filled; the entire contents
would have fitted neatly onto only two CDs. But until a rival set hits
the shelves the point is a trivial one, and I do most sincerely hope
that a rival set will be made for the music deserve currency
wherever music of this particular period is appreciated. My comments
on the performances have been severe. I hope they are sufficiently well-explained
to allow the reader to understand whether he is likely to enjoy these
discs or not.

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